


Fun & Games

by FeelsForBreakfast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, badboy!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is easily distractible and Marcel is just cute enough for him to want to ruin. (flirting, dirt bikes, and kissing)</p><p>"Harry has always sort of wondered what it would be like to make out with himself. This could be fun."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fun & Games

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the first 500 words originally on my tumblr (infinitylourry) and I got like 10 people freaking out in my ask box for more, so I wrote some more! (:  
> (this is edited like once because y'all IMPATIENT. <3)

“He looks like you.” Louis says, leaning as far out over the table as he can, a devilish sort of smile on his face. “I’m serious, Haz. Like you in big glasses and like, argyle.”

Harry grabs him by the shoulder, shoving him bodily back into his seat. “Could you not draw attention to yourself for two seconds? Also, he doesn’t look like me. His hair is darker than mine.”

Louis rolls his eyes, putting his feet up on the desk just because he knows it’ll piss Harry off. Harry is pretty sure that a large portion of Louis’ existence is fueled by trying to piss Harry off. “He looks like you, if you gelled your hair. I wonder if he’s a virgin. Remember when you were a virgin?”

Harry elbows him harder than is probably necessary. “There are two minutes left. Can you at least wait until class is over?”

But Louis is already scooting his chair over to where Perrie is sitting, whispering urgently to her as she tries to work on the math worksheet Harry would maybe have considered doing if Louis wasn’t such a distracting little shit. 

Louis tugs his chair back over to Harry with a deafening squeak across the tile floor, smiling excitedly at him. “His name is Marcel. I’m going to call him over here.”

“Louis do-” Harry starts, but Louis has already leaned himself across the desk, fixing his hair with a lazy hand. “Marcel! Marcel darling would come here?”

The kid looks up faster than Harry thinks should be possible, green eyes impossibly wide. Harry supposes they do look pretty similar, same big eyes and pink lips. Harry has always sort of wondered what it would be like to make out with himself, Louis could be right for once. This could be fun.

Harry gives him a slow smile when Marcel meets his eyes, beckoning him over with a lazy finger, his grin spreading when the boy blushes. 

“Did you need something?” Marcel asks timidly as he reaches their table.

Louis grins up at him, practically purrs as he reaches up to adjust Marcel’s bow tie. Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes at the look on Marcel’s face, something between terror and desire. He forgets that to people who haven’t known Louis for most of their lives, Louis can be incredibly charming. 

“I’m falling behind in math.” Harry says, tapping one of his long fingers against his math homework, the worksheet completely unfinished. “You good at that sort of thing?”

Marcel shrugs, biting on one of his knuckles like he’s nervous. “Well I’m really more of an expert in history but I suppose if you needed some help with today’s lesson I could maybe help you with that if you wanted?” He speaks softly, a blush covering his cheeks as he looks up at Harry from where his eyes are drawn to the floor.

“I’d love that.” Harry says, and wonders if the wink he throws in is a little much. Judging by the way Marcel stops breathing for a moment, he thinks probably not.

“Cool. Yeah. Cool.” Marcel says, trying on a smile that lights up his face. He’s really cute. The sort of cute Harry wants to bend over the nearest flat surface and fuck until the only name he can remember is Harry’s. 

“Meet me at the front after school. I’m Harry by the way.”

Marcel nods, looking overwhelmed, wiping his palms on his pleated khakis. “I know, I’m Marcel.”

Harry gives him a lazy grin, shoving his papers into his backpack and standing up, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “I know. See you later then?”

He doesn’t wait for answer before heading for the door, letting Louis follow him out. He sneaks a look back over his shoulder, winking when he catches Marcel’s eye.

This is going to be fun.

 

xx

 

He spots Marcel waiting for him by the flagpole when he finally gets out of fourth period, standing with a textbook clutched to his chest, his backpack pulled high on his shoulders. Harry sneaks up behind him, reveling in the way he jumps when he whispers hello into his ear.

“I wasn’t sure you were serious about meeting me.” Marcel says as he turns to meet him, a shy smile growing across his face.

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Harry asks, his trademark smirk making itself at home in his face as they walk down the steps towards where he’s parked. 

“I just didn’t know why you’d want to hang out with me.” He pauses, looking down at his feet, his cheeks flushed. Harry wonders if he can make him blush even more. It sounds like a challenge. “Or, I mean, want me to teach you, help you with-”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Harry says, cutting him off with a grin and a soft hand on his shoulder. Marcel starts at the contact, and Harry wonders how he’d react to something a little more than just casual touching. 

Marcel smiles, the small nervous one that Harry decides he likes. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. You ever ridden one of these?” He asks as they come to a halt next to his dirt bike. 

Marcel eyes it dubiously, shuffling his feet. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“You’ll be fine.” Harry says, tipping Marcel’s chin up with a forefinger when he looks down at the ground in trepidation. “Just hold on to me.”

Marcel nods, and Harry can’t tell if his eyes are really that wide or if his glasses magnify them. He swings his leg over the seat, nodding at Marcel to do the same and stifling a laugh when Marcel stares at his bike like it might hurt him. “No helmets?”

Harry shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll keep you safe, baby.”

Marcel makes a sound that might be agreement or might just be a squeak, but clambers onto the bike behind Harry, sticking his chin softly on Harry’s shoulder and hovering his hands on Harry’s hips.

Harry reaches down, pulling Marcel’s hands tighter around his waist. He smells like fabric softener and something warm and fruity and Harry wants to kiss bruises against his neck. 

“Hold on tight.” He says, revving the engine and taking off through the parking lot past the line of stopped cars. Marcel buries his face in Harry’s neck, squeezing Harry hard around the middle even though they’re barely hitting forty miles an hour as Harry turns out into the street.

Harry just smiles at the way Marcel hangs on to him as they speed down the streets leading to Harry’s house, pulling into his driveway a few minutes later with a tremendous screech of tires. “You still alive back there?” Harry asks, smiling as Marcel slowly sits up. 

“Are we here?” He asks, his voice a tiny bit shaky, pulling his hands back from where they’d been clutched in Harry’s tee shirt. “Sorry, I got nervous, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Harry cuts him off, sliding off his dirt bike and helping Marcel off after him, catching him when he stumbles a little bit. “Watch your step.”

Marcel nods, blushing as he follows Harry through his front door and into the kitchen, setting his backpack on the counter only after Harry does and walking lightly like he’s afraid of disturbing anything. 

“You want anything? Water? Juice?” Harry asks, fishing through his backpack for his math homework. He thinks maybe he should at least pretend they’re going to be learning anything other than each other’s bodies. 

Marcel shakes his head, pulling a folder out of his own backpack and sticking a pencil behind his ear. “I’m alright. Is anyone else home?”

“it’s just us.” Harry shakes his head, giving Marcel a private little grin. “Is that alright with you?”

Marcel nods, his ever-present blush rushing up to his ears. “That’s okay, I was just curious?”

Harry stretches his arms high above his head, liking the way Marcel’s eyes widen when his biceps flex. The thing is, he’s just so fun to tease, because he’s so responsive and timid and Harry wants to see how far he can push him, the reactions he can get when he does more than look at him sideways. “Anything else you’re curious about?”

Marcel blinks at him a few times, his mouth opening and then closing again. “No, no nothing I can think about right now, no.”

Harry fights a laugh. He admires Marcel’s attempts at composure, even though he hasn’t really stopped blushing since they met. “Alright, you going to tutor me then?”

Marcel lights up, and Harry wasn’t really planning on actually learning anything this afternoon but the other boy looks so excited about it Harry thinks he might actually attempt quadratic equations. “Yes of course.”

“Upstairs.” Harry says, pulling on a bit of Marcel’s sweater as a cue to follow him. Marcel does so, tripping over his feet as he trails Harry up the stairs and into his room.

“Is this your bedroom?” Marcel asks, standing in the doorway as Harry flops down on his bed. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient to sit at your desk?”

Harry shrugs, scooting back so he can rest against the wall. “Sit down, love. I won’t bite.” He probably will, but that’s still a few minutes away.

Marcel nods quickly, crossing Harry’s room and sitting tentatively on his bed like he’s afraid to get comfortable. “So what part of the lesson didn’t you understand?” He asks, pulling the pencil from behind his ear and looking up at Harry with earnest eyes.

Harry looks down at his wrinkled paper in his hand, his name the only thing on it. “Bit lost on the whole equation thing to be honest.”

Marcel rolls his eyes, a sneaky little smile on his face. “You’re can’t be as dumb as that.”

Harry makes a little surprised sound, liking the way Marcel seems to hide a little bit of snark underneath his perfectly gelled hair and enormous glasses. “Maybe I am.”

Marcel shakes his head, tapping a rhythm on the side of his folder. “You just don’t pay attention because your pretty friend is distracting.”

“I’m going to tell Louis you think he’s pretty.” Harry says, giving him a wink so Marcel knows he’s joking.

Marcel stiffens anyway, panic on his face. “Oh don’t tell him that. That’s awfully embarrassing I didn’t mean for that to come out.”

Harry laughs, the full bodied thing he saves for special occasions. “I won’t, it would do terrible things to his ego.”

“He does seem a bit pleased with himself.” Marcel muses, an adorable little furrow appearing in his brow. Harry is torn, because he wants to preserve the sheer cuteness that is Marcel doing anything, but he also wants to wreck him and turn him into a fucked out trembling mess. 

“Oh, always.” Harry says, doodling a little tree on the side of his paper.

“Stop distracting me!” Marcel says, apparently realizing that Harry has derailed the conversation away from anything resembling learning. “This is why you don’t learn in math class. This, right here.”

Harry shrugs. “Can’t say I mind, this is much more fun.”

Marcel purses his lips. “I thought you wanted me to help you.”

Harry leans over so his breath lands on Marcel’s lips when he breathes out. “That’s not really what I wanted.”

Marcel holds very, very still, his eyes flicking frantically down to Harry’s lips and then back up to his eyes. “I think I’ve misjudged this situation.”

Harry fights a laugh. He doesn’t know if Marcel intends to be funny, but there’s something about the way he puts things that makes Harry smile. “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Marcel thinks for a moment, looking terrified and pretty and exactly like something Harry wants to kiss. “I think good.”

Harry smiles, reaching up to cup Marcel’s jaw in one of his hands. “You ever kissed anyone?”

Marcel nods once, dipping his chin down like he’s trying to hide his face in Harry’s hand. “At camp. Spin the bottle. Once.”

Harry shakes his head, pulling Marcel’s folder from his hands and discarding it on the floor. “I mean really kiss someone.”

“Please.” Marcel says quietly, and Harry smiles at the victory, leaning in so their lips fit together, pushing him back against Harry’s sheets. Marcel moves willingly under Harry’s hands, lets himself be covered. They’re both long and lanky, but Harry’s shoulders are a little broader, his feet reaching a little further down the bed. 

Harry reaches up for Marcel’s glasses, pulling them off as gently as he can and letting them fall to the carpet, sliding his hand up Marcel’s sweater and feeling a rush of pleasure as Marcel moans into his mouth. 

Harry bites on Marcel’s bottom lip, liking the way it makes his breath catch in his throat when he does. “Can I take your shirt off, babe?” Harry asks, grinning when Marcel nods, coaxing him into a siting position so he can pull the sweater up over his head. He’s all long and lean, pale skin with a long torso Harry presses kisses down. Marcel writhes underneath him, his hands reaching out for Harry’s shoulders like he needs something to hold on to.

Harry sucks a bruise to his hipbone, noticing the bulge of Marcel’s cock through his pants with a satisfied smile. He wonders if it would be too much to suck him off, but thinks he’s doesn’t want to overwhelm him. He doesn’t want to scare him off, just make him breathless and eager for more. He’s not sure when he decided he wanted seconds, but he thinks it might have been about the time he whispered _please_ and let Harry pin him down. 

Harry kisses back up to Marcel’s chest, biting more bruises against his collarbones and the soft skin of his neck. He wants people to notice, wants him to come to school on Monday and have everyone know he’s Harry’s. 

“Will that-” Marcel breathes out, hands clutched in Harry’s comforter. “Will that mark?”

Harry stops, pushing himself up so he’s hovering over Marcel, their lips nearly brushing. “Hopefully.”

“You aren’t embarrassed of me?” Marcel asks, wide green eyes shining dark with lust and something much more innocent.

Harry kisses him slow for a moment, running a hand up his side and using the other one to mess up his hair. “Why would I be embarrassed of you?”

“You’re cool.” Marcel answers quietly, reaching a hesitant hand up to rest his fingers on Harry’s collarbone. “I’m not, I know.”

“You don’t need to be cool for me to like you. I think you’re gorgeous.” Harry says, reaching for Marcel’s hand and pressing it flat against his chest. “Don’t worry so much.”

Marcel nods, and he still looks overwhelmed, so out of his depth Harry wants to kiss him. So he does, easing Marcel through the kiss and grinding down against him until he whines. “I want you, babe. That’s what matters.”

Marcel just holds onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline, rolling his hips up. Harry reaches down, unbuttoning Marcel’s pants and getting his hand in, smiling at the way Marcel’s gasp of surprise turns into a low little moan. 

Harry runs his hand slowly up and down Marcel’s cock, kissing him through the little desperate noises falling from his lips. Harry knows he isn’t going to last long, knows he didn’t he first time, but he almost doesn’t want this to end, wants to hold this beautiful boy down just a little bit longer. 

Marcel closes his eyes just before he comes, pulling Harry close to him and letting out a soft little cry of pleasure as he goes over the edge. He looks so pretty like this, hair a mess, his cheeks flushed and lips bruised and wet. Harry was fairly sure he was made to be ruined, and he thinks he was right. 

Harry pulls his own tee shirt off, pulling his own cock out so he can get himself off. Marcel looks up at him, sitting up and shuffling over to where Harry is sitting, looking up at him with questioning eyes. “Yeah babe?” Harry asks, pausing to push a strand of Marcel’s hair back behind his ear.

“I want to...” He trails off, pressing his fingers his lips like he does when he’s nervous. “Can I suck you off?”

Harry grins, wondering if his admiration shows on his face. “If you want to.”

Marcel nods, pressing Harry onto his back with cautious hands. “Yeah, I want to.”

He climbs closer, pulling Harry’s pants down to his thighs and taking him carefully into his mouth. He looks up at Harry as he does it, never once breaking eye contact as he sucks further down Harry’s cock.

“You’re so good.” Harry murmurs, tangling his hands in Marcel’s hair as he licks around the head. “So good for me.”

Marcel hums around the head of his cock, letting Harry thrust slowly into his mouth. He’s already so close and Marcel is so eager and warm he knows he isn’t going to last long, can hardly believe the boy looking up at him.

Harry finds himself struggling to keep his breathing even with every flick of Marcel’s tongue. There isn’t much finesse there, but it’s wet and warm and he can feel how much Marcel wants to please him. Harry swears softly under his breath, keeping his eyes open so he can see the way Marcel’s pink lips stretch around the head of his cock.

“I’m going to- I think-” He grits his teeth, expecting Marcel to pull off, but he only sucks him down further. Harry fists his hands in Marcel’s hair for something too hold on to, trying to be gentle as he rides out his climax, and giving up once he realizes the way Marcel moans when Harry tugs on his hair. 

Harry stares down at him, watching as Marcel pulls off daintily, wiping his mouth with a hand and blinking up at Harry with questions in his gaze. “Did I do alright?”

Harry takes a deep shaky breath, smiling over him and tugging his boxers back up. “That was amazing. You’re lovely.”

Marcel lights up, sitting up a little bit straighter at the praise. “You were, you were amazing too.”

Harry smiles, kicking off his pants so they’re both sitting in their boxers. “So I’ve been told.”

Marcel giggles, leaning towards Harry. “I like your tattoos.”

Harry looks down, tracing a finger over one of the swallows he has printed onto his chest. “I do too. I wanted these forever, I got them the second I turned eighteen.”

Marcel reaches out, always slowly, forever asking Harry’s permission. Harry nods, taking his hand and tracing it over the ink. 

“I want a butterfly.” Marcel says, pointing at the place where his ribcage ends and his stomach begins. “Right here, a swallowtail. Parnassiinae, Pappilioninae.” He blushes, like he realizes Harry has no idea what that means. “That’s the scientific name.”

“Why?” Harry asks, reaching out to brush his fingers over Marcel’s stomach and smiling when he shivers.

“I raise them in the summer. I have a fishtank where I put them in as eggs, and then raise them up from caterpillars. I like the metaphors of metamorphosis and migration away from and back to a home.” He says it so normally, like every other teenage boy raises swallowtails in fishtanks, his eyes excited, hands gesturing as he talks.

“I feel like that’d be a really painful place to get a tattoo. You ever thought of getting on it on your arm maybe? Wrist?” Harry asks, because Marcel still strikes him as a bit fragile, even though he still wants to fuck him against flat surfaces.

“I want butterflies in my stomach though.” Marcel says brightly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Also I have a very high pain tolerance.”

Harry looks at him sideways. “Oh do you?”

Marcel blushes, apparently realizing the implications of his words.

Harry reaches out, tangling his fingers with Marcel’s. “You’re something else, you know?”

Marcel just smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments would make Marcel's lil baby heart swell with joy. :))  
> 


End file.
